


À La Mode

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>anonymous</i> prompted:<br/>"I dunno if your still doing prompts but, kanaya the amateur fashion designer just can't seem to catch the latest fashion craze in time, that is until she meets rose the fortune teller"</p>
<p>So; Kanaya's a rather poor, graduated fashion designer living just outside of New York City and trying to get a grasp on this whole designing thing. And, well, Rose works at a fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	À La Mode

Sitting at home on the couch with a sketchbook in hand and laptop never too far away, you had been other the assumption that being inspired on a near continuous level to fabricate new and interesting designs for your clothes was going to be... well, not _easy_ , but definitely not this hard. It certainly wasn't this hard when you had just begun your college classes and were more than excited to finally get your foot in the door of the world of fashion. You had learned fast enough that staring at the clothes in stores and what people on Instagram were wearing did little to nothing to help you design (though they did help you put together some nice outfits); the real trick, and somewhat of a harsh truth you had to learn in your freshman year, was to watch and closely pay attention to all those high-end fashion shows that take place all around the world. London, Paris, Milan, and New York were where everything seemed to be spring out from and you were more than ready to finally catch on the ever-moving train to become a designer.

You moved to New York City for school and eventually moved out because you couldn't afford to live there much longer, but you made do nearby and could still keep a close eye on what was happening anyway. The town you ended up in was partially an hour away and most of the people there seemed like they had been there forever and had no inclination to move away, but you hardly talked to your neighbors and considered your current residence to be nothing but temporary. All you had to do was try and figure out what big thing was coming next to the fashion world, what outrageous piece of clothing would inspire young students all around the globe to drain down the design 'til it was acceptable to put in various stores. You could do that! Definitely. It was... just, harder than you had expected it to be. But you weren't going to be deterred. 

Maybe it would be considered cheating to actually get help from a professional who actually studied to predict what big, upcoming, and dashing designs would be hitting the stage within the next few years. Not that you really could; your budget is tight and you barely have enough to pay for groceries regularly. But, regardless of that, you do need help.

However, you hadn't expected to find help in the form of a fortune teller.

Firstly, you were at a fair. Apparently the town had one every other year or so and you wouldn't have even bothered with coming if it weren't for the fact that, well, you'd been shut inside for a few days, and figured it wouldn't really hurt to get a breath of fresh air. Besides, maybe there was the off chance some weird clown would inspire you. Unlikely, but you were desperate, so you'd take anything you could get. Though a woman dressed in flashy robes with a crystal ball in front of her was not exactly what you had been expecting. But, hey, getting your fortune told was only $3.00 and, well, that was basically your budget, so. It couldn't hurt.

"No friends with you today?" she asks, not really smiling but she sounds amused. Her eyeshadow is awfully heavy and you want to tell her as much but choose to bite your tongue instead; you've already handed over your money and you wouldn't be surprised if someone who works at a fair would be more than happy to kick you out without a refund.

You shake your head and say, "Nope," but can't really be bothered to explain as to why. It's unlikely she cares, besides. Plus, you're trying to adjust to the heavy scent in her small tent - mostly like smoke but somewhat sweet, it's slightly nauseating and you can't wait to get out of there. "So," you start again, because she seems not all that interested in talking, "do you... read palms, or something?" 

She hums for a moment, looking down at your hands on the table. "I could, but you don't seem like the type of person who's all that interested in hearing about how many kids you might have or whether or not marriage will come your way." You feel that you _should_ be offended, at least to some extent, but you can't really argue with her on that point so you let her continue. "What _I_ do is tell the future. Clairvoyance and all. What would you like to know?"

You're beginning to suspect that, when she first started working with the fair, she was probably a little more excited about her job than she is now. She definitely seems to not care about dazzling her guests to any degree - then again, how much does one _really_ need to be dazzled when they pay $3.00? She's probably near done with her job. But, again, you're certainly not going to _voice_ any of this to her. Instead, you say, "I'd like to have any sort of clue as to what next year's fashion trends are going to be. And I mean the big ones, not the ones in stores or whatever; the ones you seen on the runway that look totally ridiculous but set the stage for new outfits," you want to be specific and you feel the need to explain further, though it takes you a second to realize that it's kind of silly to do such a thing. She's going to tell you something bland and general so you can pretend to read into it and walk away thinking, _Wow! That was a total waste of money I could've spent on food! But, at least now I'm somewhat nauseous and have got a headache coming, so I guess it was worth it._

She nods along with your words anyway, her thick necklace jingling a bit and her bulbous earrings swinging back and forth - _wow_ , you really don't care at all for the 1970's aesthetic she's got going on here and you really hope she's being paid to wear that and not by her own choice. "Well, that's probably one of the more interesting requests I've received so far," a statement that makes you wonder what other people have asked of her and what she took time to pretend to think about, "but I can probably find something for you." _Probably._ You could have spent that money on a goddamn funnel cake instead of this. 

The woman takes your hand between hers and closes her eyes. You wait for her to start making any sort of comical noises to try and spook you, but she just sits there calmly for about a minute or two and you grow bored quickly. Plus, the stuffy tent is beginning to make you outright sick and you really don't care for how long this is taking, but she eventually lets your hand go and looks at you with bright violet eyes. (You really want to tell her that she ought to fix her makeup just a tad.)

She's quick to the point. "Bold shapes and strong edges, rough corners and sharp turns come into the summer season with a splash. Particularly bold colors, too; nothing terribly flashy - certainly nothing neon - but leaning more towards warm shades and few blues than anything too bright. Also, sunglasses I suppose."

"Thanks!" You announce and quickly leave. A second more in there and you're sure you would have emptied the contents of your stomach all over her little table and neither of you would have been very appreciative of such an event.

After getting a few breaths of fresh air and strolling around the fair for a little longer (you entertain the idea of playing a few games and scoring a toy or two, but decide against it), you eventually head towards home to try and figure out something. The whole point of going to the flashy little circus was to get inspired (though you didn't get any sort of inspiration from the small event), but you're going to at least try to draw for an hour or two before heading to bed and starting again in the morning. Maybe you'll email one of your professors to get some advice or something.

On the couch once again, you draw a few things in your sketchbook and take care to scribble some shades of red and orange on the corners so as not to forget about adding them in later. Mostly, you draw a lot of triangles and squares while integrating them into few outfits that cut off abruptly and flow into bottom pieces and nice shoes. You really wish you had taken more classes about predicting the flow of fashion rather than just clothes making and whatnot, but everyone makes mistakes and you're going to need at least a few thousand dollars to get back into school again, so... you're stuck doing what some lady in a smelly tent told you to do. 

Admittedly, the few things you've sketched don't look half bad, but nothing you'd really write home about (just because something isn't terrible doesn't necessarily mean it's _good_ ). And you're sure enough that, in the morning, you'll revise the hell out of them before making any sort of effort to show someone.

-

You take an ink pen and some more color pencils to the page at around twelve o' clock the following day. There's a lot of noise filtering in through your walls from the fair that's still going on down the road - apparently, it lasts for a few days and you hadn't known that people from New York City would actually be traveling down to go to it as well. Still, when you had your crummy apartment in school, you had to deal with the constant noise you could hear through the thin walls of you room and, as much as you banged on walls and shoved at the ceiling with a broom, no one would get any quieter. So, you figure you can deal with the abrupt noises of cheering and odd songs filtering in from a few blocks down.

By nine o' clock in the evening, you've thrown away the original page and taken your original ideas and filtered them through many, many critical reviews. Maybe you were somewhat motivated by the lady in her little tent, but it'll really only be worth something if the professor you're emailing it to gives it any sort of gratification. The school you went to was a nice one and, if he actually deems something to be _good_ , he could easily take it to someone up higher and, hey! Maybe you can actually get a job that you'll want. _Designing_. The very thought gives you shivers. 

It takes another hour to get them all scanned and sent off; then, you spend the rest of your night scrolling through various social media sites and thinking a little bit about the fair. You kind of want to thank the woman you saw. Even if your drawings mean nothing and you don't hear back from your professor in the morning, you are still thankful that her small piece of advice gave you something to do and you feel a little more invigorated because of it. And, well, it's getting late but, from what you can tell, the fair seems to be going on almost all the time, so it wouldn't hurt to at least give her your thanks, though it'll probably come off as odd. Just in case, you take another $3.00 with you, in the off chance she won't even let you speak to her without a fee.

Shouldering a jacket and making your way back over, you do take notice that there are certainly more people inside than there were when you initially came. Definitely more bottles thrown in the grass and trash littered lazily around the bulbous bins and the smell has certainly got worse, but most of it is funnel cake and sugar and pizza, so it isn't too horrible, overall. Plus, the twinkly string lights give it somewhat of a mystic feeling and you can appreciate that, though just beneath them are people throwing darts at balloons and children crying over candy dropped - the point being that the place isn't totally awful.

The fortune teller sign is in just the same place, right beside a ring toss game and behind a small machine that presses penny into little medals. This time, there's no one inside and the candles that were lit inside have been blown out and you're slightly disappointed to find that. It hadn't occurred to you that some parts of this little shindig might close down while other's didn't. 

However, you smell smoke - not fiery smoke and not the one that had been inside the woman's tent, rather the kind from a cigarette - and take a few steps 'til you're behind the row of attractions and find just who you're looking for.

She's wiped away a majority of her make-up (some of her mascara has smudged to the corner of her eyes) and taken off the dangling jewelry, as well as the flashy robes; she's instead dressed up in some sweatpants and a baggy jacket. You can't decide if you like this look much, but it's certainly better than the fortune teller garb she had on yesterday, so you can't really say much. Not that you would, anyway. That'd be rude.

"Hey," she greets, and an awkward pause ensues before she asks, "do you, uh, mind the smoke?" 

It takes you a small moment to realize she's referring to her cigarette and not the smell of the tent behind her. "Oh. No, that's fine," you tell her. "I was here yesterday night, around six-ish or so... you told some stuff about fashion, remember?" She nods. "I wanted to thank you for that."

She snorts, " _That's_ a first," before continuing to smoke. For a second, you think that's all she has to say and are ready to leave feeling slightly embarrassed before she puts out her cigarette and asks, "Did any of that actually help you?"

"Sort of," you admit. The way she phrased it makes it sound like she had just spouted some nonsense that you should have expected and you suspect you were nearly spot-on with your assessment with her distaste for her line of work. "I mean, I was hoping to get inspired and, well, I wasn't really inspired, but it got me to work on a few things, so. It did something and I'm grateful, is all."

"That's good," she smiles. And the conversation pauses awkwardly.

Then, you leave, go home, and sleep.

In the morning, you check your mail on your phone because you're not quite ready to get out of bed yet. There's two new messages about coupons for a grocery in your hometown, as well as a headline written in all caps from one of the news station you've subscribed to. After those, there's a reply from your professor's email and you nearly leap out of bed as you prepare to read it.

He's straight to the point and writes just as you'd thought - _not that bad_ \- and tells you to continue designing some similar things and maybe contacting him further about actually fabricating a few of them. He's got a friend in France (he also has a friend in Milan and London, you suppose) who's interested in taking in young minds with a high inclination for what's coming up within the next few seasons and you're more than a little excited about it. Your mind is quick to race - what _if_ you actually got hired to work in _France_ and you could get out of this little house in New York and finally do something that you really _want_ to do? What _if_! The very thought is making you shiver.

You shower and, as you clean up, decide to go see the fortune teller one more time before making any further steps. It's silly, really, but you feel somewhat dependent on her good call - even if she was just being as bland as possible, it got you _somewhere_ and that's _something_. She'll likely be bothered with another thanking, but, damn, the girl works at a fair, she's probably always bothered (you certainly would be).

This time around, she's back on the job and in her stuffy little tent with the candles glowing and her loud jewelry making a ruckus with every movement of her body. The jacket and sweatpants were definitely more flattering than this nonsense, but you clear your head of that and sit down in the stool across from her and wait for her to say something. 

It takes an awkward twenty seconds for her to say, "... yes?" and you realize that it might have been even weirder for you to just barge in and sit down with expectations for her to start the conversation.

"It helped!" you blurt. "The bold color and sharp edges thing you told me, it actually got the attention of my professor in New York. I might end up going to France because of it," you tell her, though she looks fairly disinterested and only raises a brow in response. You silently declare that, no if's, and's, or but's, this lady is just outright weird - in a good way! But certainly weird. "I wanted to thank you again, but I also was sort of curious... about your whole _future_ telling deal. How'd you know?"

She goes on to give you a more in depth explanation as to what she just meant by _clairvoyance_. Similarly, she tells you that she couldn't just magically see the future of the fashion industry - really, she doubts anyone could do something like that - and that all she really did was tell _your_ future and saw what you would do. Whether or not you talked to her the first time may not have changed what you ended up drawing the following night, a thought that seems somewhat boggling to you (perhaps because you may have just been getting caught up in the whole dazzling idea of actual fortune telling). As well, she mentions her name is Rose and you introduce yourself shakily as Kanaya. You've got other things to attend to and she has a few customers outside, but you ask politely for her email so you could possibly talk to her more later.

-

In November, a few months after having talked to your professor the first time, you're hired and headed to France. All the details have been worked out and you're lined up for a pretty sweet job and you're more than excited about the whole thing; you'll start working just in time to crank out a few outfits for the summer show and, hopefully, someone will be watching and be willing to market your clothes. It's exhilarating! However, also bittersweet. Leaving your little house was fine and so was leaving New York in general, but Rose was in the states and, admittedly, after getting to know her a little better (albeit through online messaging), you're going to be slightly sad to not get to be as near to her as you were. You admit such things in less words and she offers that, maybe later - in a few months, perhaps - the two of you could meet up when you aren't so busy. Plus, she's dropping the whole fair shtick and becoming a writer now that she's saved up enough money, so she'll mostly be working on her own schedule 'til then. You plan to ask her out as soon as you get to see her again. 

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts on my [tumblr](http://rosemarytrash.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
